I had never heard the term “grief retreat” in my life. I first learned about it from from my neighbor, Elaine. I like to think it was some kind of divine intervention the way it happened. Elaine stopped at our town’s bakery on the way home and the line was longer than ususal, so she studied the bulletin board to pass the time. There was a flyer advertising a weekend dedicated to healing for those who’d experienced profound loss. She thought of me and snapped a photo of it. 

She showed up at my house unannounced with apple turnover and coffee for both of us. She showed me the photo of the flyer. We were both silent.

“Just think about it,” Elaine said, sensing my hesitation. “It’s two weeks from now. Maybe they still have room. You’ve been carrying so much alone. Maybe this could help.”

“Meh.” was my quick response. I was managing fine, wasn’t I? Sure, I still cried myself to sleep most nights and avoided the places that reminded me of him, but grief was a solitary journey, wasn’t it? The idea of sitting in a circle, exposing my raw emotions to others, felt terrifying. 

The next morning I got a text message from Elaine. No words, just the photo of the flyer. I closed my eyes and thought about it. Maybe I was carrying too much. Maybe I didn’t have to do it all alone.  I called the number on the flyer and the person who answered the phone didn’t greet me with the pity voice. She wasn’t all rainbows and butterflies about it either. In a few straightforward sentences she described the purpose and desired outcomes of the retreat. I signed up right away, before I could talk myself out of it.

The retreat was held at a small inn in the woods about 45 minutes from me. When I arrived, I immediately felt out of place. People milled about, some chatting quietly while others, like me, stood apart, looking as unsure as I felt. When The facilitators welcomed us warmly, offering tea and inviting us to settle in, I noticed an energy in the air that felt like peace, as though this space had been carved out of time just for us to pause and breathe.

The first session began with introductions. Hearing others speak about their losses was both heartbreaking and comforting. There was a mother who’d lost her son, a man grieving his best friend, and a young woman who’d recently lost her sister. As I listened, I realized I wasn’t so alone in my pain. Grief, though unique to each of us, had a common thread that bound us together.

Over the course of the weekend, we participated in various activities designed to help us stretch our understanding and process our grief. There were journaling sessions, guided meditations, and even a creative art workshop where we expressed our feelings through painting. One of the most powerful moments came during a candlelight ceremony, where we each lit a candle in memory of our loved ones and shared a favorite memory. The room was filled with tears, but also with love and connection.

I found myself opening up in ways I hadn’t anticipated. Sharing my story and hearing the stories of others created a sense of community that I hadn’t realized I was missing. I felt truly seen and understood.

By the end of the retreat, I felt lighter. Not because the grief had disappeared, but because I had allowed myself to acknowledge it fully. I’d given myself permission to feel, to remember, and to honor my loss without the pressure of “moving on.” I also left with practical tools to continue my healing journey—techniques for mindfulness, ways to create rituals of remembrance, and the reassurance that it was okay to seek support when needed.

To anyone considering a grief retreat, I would say this: it’s not easy to confront the depth of your pain, but there is profound healing in doing so. These retreats offer a safe space to grieve openly and to find connection with others who truly understand. Grief isn’t something to “get over” but rather something to move through, and you don’t have to do it alone. Taking that step was one of the most healing choices I’ve ever made. If you’re carrying a heavy heart, I encourage you to consider it. You deserve the time and space to heal.